


Slithered Here From Eden

by SemiStableMercenary



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Nonbinary Jack, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Past Suicide Attempt, Torture, Trauma Projection, ask to tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-09-06 07:40:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20287840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SemiStableMercenary/pseuds/SemiStableMercenary
Summary: They don't have anything on the stuff he's been through, is the thing.





	Slithered Here From Eden

**Author's Note:**

> Big trigger warning for violence, torture, past self harm, past suicide attempts, past child abuse, and probably a couple other things I'm forgetting! Please be careful reading this, it's a vent fic and it's intended to help people with similar traumas but it could always trigger memories with others so just??? Be careful yall 
> 
> Hit me up on Tumblr at mercurial-space-case! I take requests and Im always willing to make new friends

They press knives to his arms, and he's sure it'd bother him properly if he hadn't mutilated himself all of his youth. The bones they break have nothing on him; he remembers how it'd felt to get thrown from a building, this is nothing. They get fancy with the caddle prod at his back, and he can only recall the lighter he'd held to his arm and his thigh and every bit of him he could reach. He taunts them, because the cruelty they have is nothing against the abuse he suffered from his own hand and others, and because to quiet is to admit that he cares about the violence they enforce. He taunts, and laughs, and mocks, and they only get angrier, and he feels the sting but only on a primal level, vaguely aware of it. At one point he thinks they break his nose, which is a familiar feeling he welcomes like a friend.

They think they know anything about torture, think the punches and suffocation and blood have anything on gunshots to the abdomen he'd patched up himself, bleeding out on the bathroom tile. It's laughable that they think pulling out his hair and his fingernails has anything on the many different things he'd done to himself. He faintly recalls the triple kill he'd attempted, once he was with a foster family; the pills, and the slits, and the surface of the bathtub full of bloodied water. He laughs, and they look confused and appalled, which just makes him laugh harder. His broken ribs jostle as he does, but he pays them no mind.

Either Trevor and Matt will come for him, or when he gets tired of this mellow drama he'll break out and have a bit of fun with the people here who think they know anything about getting information. For now, though, he's just enjoying the familiar sensation of blood pouring down his lips, revelling in the hurt of his thigh where they've stuck a knife and haven't bothered to take it out. Death is a possibility, but he's not lucky like that, so he just lets himself be content with the pooling blood.

-

Eventually the Fakes come for him, which he wasn't expecting. Matt, Trevor and him have only been working with them for a little over a month, so being broken out by them is definitely surprising. Gavin looks ready to vomit when he seems him, which is probably fair; he bets he looks a mess. He can feel the split of his lip, and the charred mess of his non broken arm, and the knife is still implanted in his thigh. 

Jack is gentle as they help him up, which is, again, surprising; he doesn't quite need it, he assures, but the thought is appreciated. Once he's standing and his legs are untied, he stretches out his left arm, the broken one, and feels around it. As far as he can tell from experience and feeling for splintered pieces, it's a clean break, which means he can easily slide it back together with a bit of a crack, and a grimace for the others having heard it. He takes off his jacket, half torn anyways, and makes a makeshift splint with his burnt hand. It's one handed, so it's a bit messy, but he can have Trevor help when he gets home. Trevor will bitch at him about getting hurt out of worry, but with Matt it's just quiet empathy and concern and teary eyes, gentle hands, so he'll take the yelling.

He hears a gasp as he yanks the knife out, which he doesn't pay much mind to. He takes the bit of the jacket that wasn't used as a splint and ties it around his thigh to stop the bleeding as best he can. 

Once he's done assessing his injuries and ensuring he can make it to the house he shares with his friends, he's looking up to thank the Fakes, out of politeness more than having actually needed the help. What he finds, though, is a mix of horror and concern, or in Gavins case, disgust. (Or, what he assumes is disgust, because Gavin is still struggling not to vomit again.) 

Shrugging it off, he smiles softly at them, noting vaguely the way the split lip stretches, the way the blood from his broken nose makes its way down his chin. Frowning and pausing in his attempt at thanks, he pops his nose back into place, looking back at them once he's done and offering his gratitude.

"Thanks for making the walk out of here a bit easier. I'll see you all next week for the heist, yeah?" And he walks past them. Geoff stops him, looking astonished, hand at his shoulder. 

"Kid, what the hell /are/ you?" 

Jeremy raises an eyebrow, making eye contact as he thinks his answer over. "I am Monster Truck!" He grins as he says it, and turns out, half limping, ignoring as the Fakes watch him. He faintly hears Gavin coughing, the pats at his back assumed to be Michael.


End file.
